Within
by Tomorrow
Summary: Saw as Heero bowed before the cross, mouthing incoherent nothings, oddly disfluent and erratic while rocking on his knees. Water dripping from his body. Blood pooling from his son's. Baptized in the harrowing sacramentals of gore and grief." (1xR)


AN: This story has been plaguing me for months, and I was finally able to write it down. I just couldn't bring myself to do it until now.

Warning: This is rated R for the amount of religious content, specifically Christian (but with other religions as well).

I apologize if the Muslim and Jewish prayers are not exactly correct. I tried to transfer them accurately, but that doesn't mean something didn't happen along the way. I don't mean to offend anyone by using these prayers wrongly (I'm not exactly sure if the settings are appropriate).

The song "Carry Him Gently" has lyrics that appear as part of the actual story. "Remember when it Rained" is the song used as the fic's theme (like the format of a normal songfic).

If you still dare, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, "Carry Him Gently," or "Remember when it Rained."

"Please understand, Vice-Foreign Minister Yuy. **I** realize that you and the Commander are doing everything within your powers to make the resource satellites more accessible to the Earth's inhabitants, but the fact still remains that the monarchs and delegates, and more importantly the common people, **don't** know about your campaigns. They believe you've made an illicit agreement with a few of the Colonial leaders, allowing them nearly exclusive control and access to the satellites, which has caused many of your former supporters to turn against you. And let's just say that, after my meeting with the U.S. Ambassador, I feel that people are becoming quite anxious for the matter to be resolved, one way or another." The Foreign Minister's voice lowered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room for any unsolicited listeners that might have already attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation. There were always gossipy secretaries; shifty, loitering maintenance men; and the naively loose-tongued children of famous political busybodies sidling around. "And if that means the destruction of your kingdom, the obliteration of the legacy you two have created— Then so be it."

"In other words, you're saying that the Cinq Kingdom has become their target—specifically my family and I," Relena confirmed as her gaze momentarily shifted to her husband standing in the doorway, stoic and with his arms crossed over his chest. She could feel her heart fall into her stomach when his eyes slid open at the statement and searched for her own, inadvertently verifying the gravity of their situation.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you, Minister. I think it would be best if you two and your son laid low for a while and took refuge outside of the kingdom, until I can personally assure the leaders of the ESUN of your efforts," the old man suggested as he placed a reassuring hand on his subordinate's shoulder, noticing the glint of defiance that flashed through her eyes at the mention of capitulation. "I know you'd feel as if you're running from your Office, but you'd be even less helpful if you wound up in some unanticipated battle zone, left scattered around the Cinq courtyard in thousands of tiny pieces.

"Relena, I need you there after the negotiations in order to smooth things over and talk some reason into their thick, gray skulls-- Disregarding the fact that my hair is its own lovely shade of white," the politician chuckled as his eyes motioned to his scalp and he ran a wrinkled had through the strands, causing his part to shift to the left and drape like a sloppy, sallow curtain over his cheek.

Her shoulders stiffened. And his laughter faded at her reaction, coming out in gruff rings and halted by the hesitant clearing of his throat. His swallow resonated through the stagnant awkwardness.

"Besides," he whispered as he ran his finger along her cheek, an almost nostalgic tremble to his voice as he touched her, "you're like a granddaughter to me. I don't know what I'd do if I found out that you or that little boy of yours was killed in a terrorist attack, especially under false pretenses."

"Be that as it may, Jack," she replied with her neck craned and the subsequent tightening of her jaw, "Heero and I aren't going to give those insurrectionists that satisfaction. There's no immediate danger to speak of, and the attacks you're referring to are only idle threats. We have to set an example for the people, that we won't be intimidated into giving fomenters what they want."

"But at the expense of your own lives, my Dear… and that of your child?" Her normally civil, impregnable expression faltered at his insinuation, her lips slightly parted as she allowed her hesitation and maternal concern to flicker across her countenance, reinforcing her apprehension with a quivering breath.

"Odin will be taken to the border and left with Zechs," Heero stated as he lifted himself from the doorframe to stand beside his wife, raising his arm to rub her back in lazy, comforting strokes. He could feel the tension in her muscles, how her shoulder blades involuntarily twitched beneath his ministrations—her worry for Odin draining through her skin and into his fingers as his gentle pressing became more deliberate, fueled by their shared anxiety. "He and Noin have a house there. If the palace is attacked, then he'll be safe."

"I suppose that's an option. But I'm sure you realize that it's not just the palace I'm worried about— The entire country is at risk. Relocating the prince would be a logical course of action to take, since the palace is the most likely attack site, and being near the borders would mean a fairly quick flight from the kingdom if the worse panned out. Still…" Foreign Minister Shale debated while massaging his temples, trying to wipe the haze from his train of thought, sullied with visions of the five-year-old boy drenched in blood and riddled with bullets. "Wouldn't it just be easier to send him to Mrs. Darlian in the Neo Czech. Republic?"

"My foster mother's much too ill to take care of him, and we haven't been on very good terms since my marriage." He sent an intrigued glance towards Heero at the implication, the edges of the diplomat's lips creasing themselves into a repressed smirk. "I'd say she's only been around to see Odin once since he was born, and she didn't take to him all that well. I think she considers him illegitimate somehow," Relena snorted at her mother's indignation, rolling her eyes when she remembered a few of the more asinine innuendoes her benefactress had not-so subtly dropped in letters and causal phone conversations. "And besides, Odin **knows** Milli and Lucy— He'd be more comfortable staying with them than with some other relative harboring a superficial grudge against him."

"Well, whatever you decide, now's the time to act… for all your sakes."

He knew Odin was upset-- His son hadn't even spoken once since he strapped the child into the car. He just stared out the window with a reminiscent glaze spread over his eyes and expression, sulking and concentrating on the auburn and gold, leafy patches of the dying trees that they passed, absently running his teddy bear's ribbon through his fingers and curling a lock of its fur with his other hand. Closing his cerulean eyes, the little prince heaved a sigh as a few raindrops spattered across the window in haphazard splotches, dripping down the glass like scintillant, rippling cracks. Let his eyes rove over the gnarled reflections in the streams-- Splintering them throughout dozens of metaphorical shards. It reminded him of the internal brokenness of his family, how they would be separated for longer than he could remember his parents ever going away. What had once been a complete, familial prism casting iridescent streaks of commitment and love would soon be nothing but shattered glass that had to be salvaged piece by piece--each weekend they came to his aunt and uncle's to visit him.

The child sighed.

Yet he knew the distance was necessary; his parents wouldn't leave him if there were another alternative. They loved him… but they always had to leave.

"We'll come every weekend," Heero, as though having sensed his son's thoughts, reminded him while glancing back at Odin in the rear-view mirror. The child only pulled the bear closer to his body, rubbing his face along the matted softness of the animal's head. Refusing to look his father in the eyes. His words had been so expressionless and cold.

Heero returned his attention to the road, off-handedly noticing the intensification of the storm as an unraveling rope of lightening cinched the mistiness that veiled the bulging, filmy sky and rain started pummeling the car in beaded splashes and sheets. Heard the thunder that shrieked from the strangled clouds. "It's only temporary, until we're sure that the threats have subsided."

Although the five-year-old didn't know exactly what "subsided" meant, he knew from the way his father gripped the steering wheel that it wasn't a good thing. It meant that his mommy and daddy were going to be gone for awhile and in danger. And this was his father's pathetic attempt to console him-- Even if Heero couldn't assure him that everything was going to be okay, couldn't be sensitive like his mother with glittering, lucid eyes and butterfly kisses. He just felt obligated to leave the child with some sort of hope, maybe even as a reminder to himself that the measures they were taking were simply precautionary--not imperative. But when it came to the safety of his family, to Heero all steps were critical. All aspects of physical preservation were considered-- Although not always the emotional ones. Not always his son's lonesomeness. His age. His tears. His dependence on their love and touches and words.

Heero never seemed to relate to his son in that respect very well.

At that realization Odin sniffled quietly, dwelling on how much he just wanted to sit on his mommy's lap in their rocking chair and listen to her lilting voice hum over his recollections of the day, lulling him into a drowsy reverie of safety and affection. Wanted his dad to hold him and rub his back in the usual circles that settled him and made his breathing shallow. He just wanted to feel their love again. Be close and together-- Not invoke it by absence. Not again.

Another sigh.

__

Odd... Heero noted as the car approached a young woman on the side of road. Regardless of the storm, the adolescent was roughhousing with her dog in the mud and occasionally tossing a ball for it to retrieve, both seeming unaware of the flickering lightening and torrents.

They were about to pass by the pair when she threw the ball into the street, causing the dog to dart out in the middle of the road. Rubber burned, streaked the pavement. The screeching breaks ruptured the violent, numinous rhythm of the downpour, subdued by the sputters of the engine. Headlights glazed over the animal's sable fur, with its eyes gleaming as fiendish, rogue torches through the droplets. Glinting. While translucent webs of water ran off its coat, smearing over the pelt to reveal the animal's disturbing gauntness and rigidity. Like a bestial apparition. Feral. Surreptitious. _Demented_.

It wouldn't move.

Heero looked back at the jeep behind him, carrying Duo, Quatre, and Trowa, who volunteered to help escort the prince to the border. Between the severe, steady bars of rain, he could make out Duo as the braided pilot looked at him with narrowed eyebrows and his hands held up in question of the sudden halt. But the king gave no indication, dismissing his comrade's unvoiced query and returning his attention to the stoic dog.

It still hadn't moved. It still watched him with an eerie austerity, blinking the drops out of its haunting eyes and casually shaking its fur and tearing the luminous, evanescent webs of liquid, spraying the hood of the car and splattering the windshield.

__

Damn _kid_, he thought to himself as he rolled down his window, allowing the rain the batter his face and forearms, _won't come after her dog._

"Girl," Heero called to her, wiping his cheek as he felt a water bead slip over the bridge of his nose and tickle him, "get your dog off the road." She only looked at him, her mouth pulling into a smirk and eyes brightening as she watched the rain beat down on the king, plastering his bangs to his forehead. It rendered him scraggily and his intentions sound reprobate. "Did you hear me?"

Her smile only broadened, her hand gingerly patting a pocket of her skirt. Fingers dancing over the material bulge in listless strokes, pressing the water from the fabric.

"Daddy!"

His attention abruptly shifted to the animal--only seconds before stiff and calm--as the canine jumped on top of the hood. Growling. Barking. Snarling as its breath fogged up the windshield and its fangs and tongue made thick, salivary smears, leaving an imprint of the dog's snout in slimy residue-- Filming it with tawny mist as a ghostly reminder. Its claws slashed across the glass.

__

Scrape.

Squeal.

Scratching. Making random cracks when the animal pounded its body against the vehicle, leaving drenched clumps of fur in the wiper blades. Thrashing the metal, plastic, and rubber with the paranoia of a poltergeist's tantrum and the lucent, nebulous rain sloshing around him. Scuffing off black paint, the shavings lost in its soggy, gleaming pelt.

Eyes fierce. Diabolical. Flashing in the momentary crackles of lightening bolts.

That's when he heard six shots fire.

One.

__

Clang-- Ping

Two.

__

Cling-- Pang

Three.

__

Chang-- Ting.

Four.

__

Crack.

Five.

__

Shatter.

Six.

__

Groaning.

Not at him. Not through the windshield. Not from the driver's window. Behind him, to his right. In the backseat.

"Odin…"

He didn't know where the girl went. The dog. He didn't hear the other three as they scrambled out of the jeep. He couldn't feel the rain as the fluid, sparkling rapiers impaled him, soaked through his cloths with the sharp chill of steel and slicked his skin. Didn't notice the mud puddles that he sank into, with brown grime speckled across his hands and face as the storm ravaged the tarns' murky countenances and made them swell, causing them to quiver and whine. Couldn't feel the wind slap his face and rip at his sodden hair, chafing his flesh and drying out his eyes. He couldn't even feel the warmth of his son's body. Limp. Heavy. Swaddled in rain.

**__**

Wash away the thoughts inside

That keep my mind away from you

All he could see was red. All he could feel was fluent, ephemeral heat. All he knew was blood. The pungency of bitterness assailed his nostrils, made his stomach lurch, made saliva gather in pockets around his tongue.

All he could comprehend was that his son had been shot. Everything else wavered in a fragile dream of ethereality, suspended by the intensity of his helplessness that slithered down his back and made a nest in his belly and spit its venom through his veins; suppressed, desperate reactions that pounded in his chest. Made his hands tremble. He couldn't control it, shaking involuntarily. Voices faded into garbled resonance, choppy with the cadence of the storm. Stifled by the whipping gale. Memories stagnated. The tempest stilled. For a moment… there was nothing.

****

No more love and no more pride

And thoughts are all I have to do

"He's lost too much…"

There was nothing.

__

"Oh my God…"

There was nothing.

__

"There's not enough time…"

There was nothing.

No doctor.

No bandages.

Nothing close.

Except immanent death.

No one could save his son.

****

Ooooohhhh

Remember when it rained

__

She was always there, doused by the soft glow of supplicant, prayerful candlelight. It shimmered through her hair and along her skin, reflecting the luster from her lips and fingernails and lashes as she knelt in the small cove. Smoke wafted from the flaming wicks, brushing her chin and forming a hazy, dissipating rosary around her fingers, when it was suffocated in her folded hands.

She always came to this chapel to pray for those who died in the war. For the orphans. For the widows. For peace. For understanding.

It was only a few minutes that she offered to the Lord on their behalf, reticent and private, but somehow Relena felt that those short moments of petition accomplished more for the people than her countless hours of speech-writing and policy reformations.

She wasn't God. She couldn't redeem the world. She could try to make it a better place, but man's destiny belonged to the Father alone. She could only hope to be His vessel, to be a fulfiller of His messages and keep the hope of His promises alive in the actions and thoughts of the people. Nothing more. Nothing miraculous. Just what God wanted of her.

He asked her once, how she could believe in a merciful Being of holiness and unfathomable love. How she could live through the war and pain and have faith that mankind was originally the child of Something good and pure. That it had been meant for perfection. And she just looked at him, a sacred, beautiful glimmer in her eyes as she took his hand in her small one and replied, "Because I see that I can't make humanity happy or take away the suffering. But somehow people heal and go on, loving and caring for others, anyway. Someone has to be giving them that strength."

His feet pounded on the slumped, waning grass, with water splashing the cuffs of his pants. His ragged breathing clouded in the cold, cradling him in emotional heaves of white. The water slid down his back and sputtered from his hair in the wind. His path was illuminated by the lightning's sporadic flickers, making his sprint incorporeal and airy.

****

Felt the ground and looked up high

And called your name

"Heero! Where are you going?"

"Wait!"

"Buddy, come back! Stop!"

**__**

Ooooohhhh

Remember when it rained

Their steps lumbered behind him, carried them across the field. Splattering and calling. Their boot heels over the land brought them to the worn carpet of the chapel where Heero collapsed to his knees in front of the crucifix. Stared at the bloodied, wounded Christ whose head hung limply on his chest-- The Son of God. Dying and in pain… like his son… with his head dangling over his father's arm.

Stared. His breath even. But his chest rose to his shoulders with the sharp intakes that dampened the hall in careening, resounding pants.

__

…Pant…

…Pant…

…Pant…

"Duo…"

__

…Pant…

"I don't know how to pray."

**__**

In the darkness I remain

The American stood behind his friend, barely shivering, swallowing as he looked at the little boy. He clenched his eyes, teeth gritted as he tried to repress the guilt he felt, the memories this holy place resurrected. Sister Helen. Solo. God. He choked on a sob when he saw Heero fold his hands underneath his son's head. Saw as Heero bowed before the cross, mouthing incoherent nothings, oddly disfluent and erratic while rocking on his knees. Water dripping from his body. Blood pooling from his son's. Baptized in the harrowing sacramentals of gore and grief, sprinkled with the feeling of powerlessness. Immersed in strangeness.

****

Tears of hope run down my skin

Tears for you that will not dry

Heero called to him again, burying his face in his child's neck: "I don't know how to pray." His voice held no tremble, didn't waver. Somehow-- He just needed to learn a new tactic, another way of salvation without physical basis. He had to learn how to believe in unbelief.

Duo fell to his knees beside him, tears running down his face as he pressed his forehead against Heero's and enveloped the silent man in his arms. His wet cheek rubbed against his friend's, although the father didn't seem to feel the compassionate friction, utterly frozen and only more strength placed in his parental embrace, causing the little one's head to fall against Heero's chest. Allowing Duo to do as he pleased. The braided pilot swayed them gently, caressing the little prince's glassy, white face.

**__**

They magnify the one within

And let the outside slowly die

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name." Duo grabbed Heero's folded hands, kissing his knuckles. Kissing Odin's cheek. Sobbing in ragged intervals, inducing his body to shake.

His friend was hurting. This man that he came to know through war and peacetime was losing his little boy… and he couldn't even cry. Couldn't cry. Wouldn't cry. Someone had to cry-- Had to cry for him.

"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…"

**__**

Ooooohhhh

Remember when it rained

Heero listened to the words as they reverberated in the church, startlingly clear and charged, dispelled by the faint patter of his baby's heart.

**__**

I felt the ground and looked up high

And called your name

…thump…

…thump…

****

Oooooohhhh

Remember when it rained

Steady as the rain.

****

In the water I remain

Behind them Quatre prostrated before the Christ, pushed his forehead against the carpet as the taste of salt and numbing despair touched his lips, washing away formalities. Wiping away the orthodoxy and heresy of religion. Making his plea catholic. "Alla-humma-ghfer li-hayyina wa-mayyitina wa-saghirina wa-kabirina wa-dhakarina wa-onthana wa-shahidina wa-ghaibina…"

_ ****_

Running down

…thump…

…thump…

Running down

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespassed against us…"

_ ****_

Running down

…thump…

…thump…

Running down

"Allahumma man ahyaytahu menna fa-ahyihi 'ala-l-Islam. Wa-man tawaffaytahu menna fatawaffahu 'ala-l-Iman. Allahomma la tabrimna ajrah wala taftinna ba'adah…"

**__**

Running down

…thump…

…thump…

****

Running down

Trowa watched them pray, his hand rested on a nearby pillar-- Saw Heero pull Odin closer amidst the knell of foreign tongues and sanctity and resonance. But still no tears from the father. No cries or screams or moans or grunts. Still in check. Still in control.

And the green-eyed pilot pitied him for it. "Yeetgadal v' yeetkadash sh'mey rabbah 'almah dee v'rah kheer'utey. V' yamleekh malkhutei, b'chahyeykhohn, uv' yohmeykhohn, uv'chahyei d'chohl beyt yisrael, ba'agalah u'veez'man kareev…"

****

Running down

__

…thump…

…thump…

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

…thump…

…thump…

"Allahumma la tabrimna ajrah wala taftinna ba'adah, waghfir lana walah."

__

…thump…

…thump…

"Y'hey sh'met rabbah m'varach l'alam u'l'almey almahyah. Y'hey sh'met rabbah m'varach l'alam u'l'almey almahyah. Yeet'barakh, v' yeesh'tabach, v' yeetpa'ar, v' yeetrohmam, v' yeet'nasei, v' yeet'hadar, v' yeet'aleh, v' yeet'halal sh'mey d'kudshah b'reekh hoo l'eylah meen kohl beerkhatah v'sheeratah, toosh'b'chatah v'nechematah, da'ameeran b'al'mah."

__

…thump…

…thump…

"Amen."

"Assalamu Alaykom."

"Amein."

__

…silence…

…silence…

…silence…

And everything was still. There was nothing. Not even a breath.

**__**

Running down

…Carry him gently, my baby…

…Carry him gently, my child…

…whispers…

Heero's knees buckled. Looking down at his son… now a dead body.

__

…Carry him far from suff'ring…

…Let him rest for awhile…

…chants…

He rested Odin's head against his heart, absently ruffling the corpse's hair. Just staring. At nothing.

__

…I gave him love as a baby…

…I shared his joy as a child…

…prayers…

His fingers rubbed his son's back in lazy circles, waiting for shallow breathing and gentle nuzzling, for Odin's hair to flutter against his neck. Harder. Harder. Harder. But he only received stillness.

__

…He died alone, forsaken…

…Let him rest for awhile…

…soft light grazing the chapel, touching the spires with blessed glistening and casting shallow, empyreal rainbows through the stained-glass windows…

He swallowed. Thinking of Relena. Her face. Her tears. Her wasted faith. How much she loved their baby.

__

…Carry him quickly, my baby…

…Carry him quickly, my son…

…illuminating the living occupants, the spectrums refracted by their pulsing flesh…

Oblivion. He deserved oblivion. He'd killed so many; hurt too much. He accepted his fate, an inherent victim of nullity… but his son.

Alone in a void of darkness.

An innocent boy.

Crying to anomalous, empty walls that were deaf to lonesomeness and suffering. Desensitized to the pleas of a child. Cold. An eternity of nothingness. Nothingness…

Alone…

Crying… for his daddy… for his mommy…

His son. His child. His baby… there…

No…

How could he go there?

__

…Carry him far from suff'ring…

…His work, his work is done…

…stroking the face of a deceased child…

****

Take him, God. I believe so that he won't go there. This moment, I believe.

…Carry him gently…

…Let him rest for a while…

"Daddy?"

Slits of crystalline peered up at him, churning with fear and lingering confusion. Lower lip quivering.

Alive.

He groaned as he wriggled out his father's clutches to hug him, shaking, with a somnolent relief setting over him. With heavy-lidded eyes.

"I wanna go home."

His child lived.

"I want Mommy."

Breathed.

And there above him towered the cross, casting the little prince in its shadow… light cradling him in the devout, artistic iridescence from the stained-glass windows… Jesus smiling down upon him with a face of love.

…Carry him gently, my baby…

And Heero looked away.


End file.
